


Tell Me How I'm Trash (And You Could Easily Replace Me)

by HunterByDayWhovianByNight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: (if you squint), Bad BDSM Etiquette, Crack Treated Seriously, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, F/M, Force Bondage, Force Choking (Star Wars), Force Sex (Star Wars), Force dreams, Force-Sensitive Reader, Inappropriate Use of Lightsabers, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Loss of Virginity, MIGHTY ROBODICK, Masturbation Interruptus, Mildly Dubious Consent, Penetrative Sex, Power Imbalance, Pre-Rogue One, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, Reader-Insert, Submissive Character, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force, Uninformed Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterByDayWhovianByNight/pseuds/HunterByDayWhovianByNight
Summary: “Man? You've never seen a real man. You don’t know what it is to be wanted by a real man. [...] And if he is just man enough to call you whore, you'll say Yes Yes and you'll crawl naked in the dirt and the mire for him to call you that...” —William FaulknerWere you (yes, you!!) in the wrong place at the wrong time, or were you exactly where you needed to be for Darth Vader—theDarth Vader— to notice you?(My first reader-insert in many, many years!)
Relationships: Darth Vader/Original Female Character(s), Darth Vader/Original Female Imperial Character, Darth Vader/Reader, Darth Vader/You
Comments: 38
Kudos: 214





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost: this is probably the most ridiculous thing I have ever written. For all my friends who have been consulted and have been worthy discussion partners for this story, thank you so much for putting up with me. Like I have said to my writing partner on my Mando + child collaboration [This Changes Everything,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672091) I want this fic to be both ridiculous and chillingly well-written, so I hope this fulfills everyone's expectations. 
> 
> This ambitious project sought to answer the question that has weighed heavily on my mind since December 25, 2019: Does Darth Vader fuck? Well, after much consultation on the internet, heated discussion with friends, the purchase of Vader: Dark Visions #3, and a narrowly-winning GroupMe poll, the answer is: yes. 
> 
> Thank you and acknowledgements to all my friends who have been (un)willing contributors to this trash heap of a trilogy— your love and support is literally unmatched. To the wonderful BatmanWhoLaughss: you are such a trooper for putting up with my constant questions about robodicks and the logistics of Darth Vader sex. To my wifey: thank you for the idea about Darth Vader / Imperial officer, I’ll have to write that second idea next. To my yung avengers: thank you for not questioning the fact that this story even EXISTS and for blindly reading all of the screencaps I sent to the chat. Finally, to all the people on the internet with strong opinions on whether or not Darth Vader has a working penis: you were absolutely no help, but I appreciate your passion. And, as any Sapphic will tell you, you do NOT need a penis to have sex. 
> 
> Enjoy the fruits of my labor, and don’t forget to kudos / comment! Warnings are subject to change dependent on audience response, but I have tagged everything major. PLEASE let me know if I should add tags. This is basically everything you'd expect in a Vader / Reader story, so be wary but enjoy! Title is from "Hate Me" by Ellie Goulding and JuiceWRLD.
> 
> ~Hunter
> 
> P.S.: There is listening material to accompany the reading material! My Vader / Reader playlist can be found [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0YTlnw6DQIfBn8SAryAzCS?si=7eSFKrjUSB28Qe5FJ-bjTg)
> 
> P.P.S.: I realized that there was a detail discrepancy in the tags and the fic. This story takes place an indeterminate time before ANH / Episode IV + Rogue One, as indicated in the tags; I mistakenly used the Executor as Vader’s flagship in the fic when he does not use the Executor until ESB / Episode V. I have replaced all mentions of the Executor with the Devastator, which is more accurate for this fic. 8/17/2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader meets you (yes you!!) for the first time and things go down less stellar than you (or any sentient being in their right mind) would want.

Darth Vader— called Lord Vader by everyone but the Emperor— was, simply put, a terrifying man. His presence in any room or hallway sent chills down the spines of the most battle-hardened generals and fearless prisoners. The way he moved, with his shoulders all the way back, his spine straight, and his head held high implied his immense resolve. His restraint. His control. All parts of him from his helmet to his boots to his labored, mechanical breathing exuded his power and status. He was a sight to see standing on the bridge, overlooking the vastness of the galaxy with his arms firmly crossed in front of him, or in the halls, fists clenched at his sides and his long cape billowing behind him. You often saw him standing on the bridge in that way, stealing glances when you could. 

(Nobody ever saw his face, or if they did, they never spoke of it. You wouldn’t see it either.)

Being a lieutenant on _The Devastator_ meant you saw Lord Vader with great frequency. He took great pride in personally patrolling the bridge when he was on the ship to ensure everything (and everyone) was in line. You heard that sometimes he would personally question and torture the prisoners onboard, since his Force abilities aided him in easily extracting information from defectors and spies. You could hear him breathing, his heavy boots, before he entered the bridge.

That didn’t mean he ever saw you, though. 

When stationed in the bridge, below the walkway and sitting at computers, life was boring. Unless _The Devastator_ came across the Rebels’ ships or their allies, who were promptly and swiftly defeated, you were stuck behind the desk running diagnostics. It was tedious, but easy, work for the most part; you make good money, some of which you send to your parents, farmers in the Middle Rim. In those long shifts on the bridge, you daydream and fantasize that something… _exciting_ would happen, that there would be some kind of commotion on the ship. Gossip was dry— old men have little to bicker about and discuss, you found— and there were few people you enjoyed talking to, much less spending time with outside mealtimes and shifts. 

Your involuntary isolation ends though, when after two years of being stationed on _The Devastator_ , Lord Vader notices you instead of the other way around. When you climb out of the bridge, the sight of tall black boots enters your field of vision. You don’t realize who they belong to until you tentatively look up and see a wall of black. You gasp and feel your heart drop; this wall of black before you was _the_ Darth Vader. And you, an insignificant cog in the grand scheme of the empire, were in his way. You had not noticed him enter the bridge moments ago, which you chalk up to your typical end-of-shift drowsiness; for this, you mentally kicked yourself. It was your job to be aware, always on guard for changes in the environment, and you had not even heard the right hand of the emperor enter _his_ bridge. 

You gulp and grip the ladder’s rungs tightly in your hands, awaiting the inevitable verbal lashing he would give. You stare up into the hollow, dead lenses that shield his eyes from the eyes of the rest of the world; you see nothing but darkness in them. His whole demeanor, from his carefully constructed helmet to his heavy boots, gives the impression that he has no humanity left in him. Your heart pounds against your rib cage in anticipation for whatever will happen next. You’ve never been this close to him before now, despite having worked with him for so long, and now you were about to die for sure. 

(Lord Vader was not a kind man— you’d seen him react harshly to officers and droids alike for doing much less than stand in his way.)

“Am I in your way, lieutenant?” Vader asks coolly despite the gravelly tone of his vocoder, hands on his belt and mechanical breathing continuing at its same, steady pace. He gives you a once-over, clearly sizing you up, but in comparison to him, there’s not much to size up at all. You are unarmed, clad only in your grey regulation uniform and boots, while he is in full leather and steel armor. His whole body, machine and man, looms over you and blocks out the faint fluorescent lights in the bridge above you. You bite your lower lip without fully realizing it, reeling at your proximity to Lord Vader and the threat he could give you in front of the other officers. This is _the_ Darth Vader you’re talking to— you may not get this opportunity again (in more ways than one). The fact that your life, your career, hangs in the balance of the whims of one man is both titillating and terrifying. 

“Of-of course not, Lord Vader,” you stammer, quickly averting your eyes so as not to offend him further, but Vader uses the Force to jerk your face back. Your eye contact is reignited, which feels intense to say the least, but it surprisingly sends a shiver throughout your body. Your grip slackens on the ladder rungs, but only slightly. 

“What is your name, lieutenant?” Vader asks, stepping back from the edge of the ledge. You take this as a cue to finish climbing out, and he permits you to do so. You’re surprised that he has not lashed out at you yet, but somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought that he’s waiting until you’re standing on the bridge to make an example of you takes root. But even that, though, sounds appealing— you would have caught his attention enough to force a reaction out of him. 

“Lieutenant (Y/L/N),” you say, folding your hands behind your back and keeping your feet together. You are keenly aware of the eyes of every officer on this bridge on you. Vader appears to tilt his head back in understanding, or maybe analysis. He puts his hands on his belt, widening his stance and observing you further. “Is there something you needed, Lord Vader?”

“Not presently,” Vader says as he backs away and walks a few steps. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks past you, his cape brushing your left side. “But perhaps I shall soon, Lieutenant (Y/L/N). Soon.”

Vader gives you one last look that bores into your soul and turns away from you, continuing on his path to the front of the bridge where he can look out upon the expanse of galaxy. Every man and woman on the bridge stares at you, shocked that he had not Force choked you or verbally abused you for the double offense of not noticing him enter and attempting to exit while he walked down the bridge, effectively putting yourself in his way. You are shocked, too, but his promise that he would need you again “soon” sends another shudder throughout your body; you touch your fingertips to your cheek and feel how hot they are with embarrassment. You flush deeper knowing that your fellow officers can see you blushing, so you cover your face with your hand and cap as you swiftly exit the bridge. It’s not until you get on the elevator that you realize that Lord Vader’s force abilities must be able to sense your flustered, embarrassed state; he’d have to be blind and out of touch to not know the extent of the impact your interaction (and him) had on you.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader summons you (yes, you!!) to his chambers and the tension only increases.

That night, after eating dinner in the mess hall with nosy officers who had heard all about your confrontation with Lord Vader on the bridge and wanted to ask you for the full details, you lie curled on your side atop the hard mattress alone in your thoughts. You dimmed the light an hour ago, but were in that liminal state between awake and asleep, wishing you would just be able to drift off. Your mind starts to wander, and you remember how confused your mixed arousal and fear felt on the bridge when face-to-face with Lord Vader. His presence commanded attention from everyone, and you would be lying if you didn’t say that you wanted him. His mask, his cape, his mechanical breathing… all of him felt intimidating. 

You feel creep into your mind— out of thin air, it seems— the want to touch yourself. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and slowly close your eyes. It’s been some time since you’ve wanted to do this, but it’s like riding a speeder— you never really forget. You take a slow, steadying breath and allow your hand to drift below the waistband of your loose pajama pants. You hesitate for a moment, but the voice in your head says _don’t you dare think about stopping yourself— just continue, enjoy it_ and so you willingly obey. You have never heard this part of your subconscious before, but you like its boldness, its conviction. Over your underwear, you circle your clit, trying to warm yourself up before going any further. 

In your head, the image of Lord Vader appears, seemingly out of nowhere; in your mind’s eye, you lie on your tiny bed, watching him as he approaches you. You try to reach out to him, but he puts you into a Force hold, not allowing your limbs to move up from the bed. He straddles you on the bed over your hips, his armor digging into your groin and giving you just enough friction that you’re left wanting more. You let your fingers go into your underwear and tease your entrance, feeling yourself get wetter as you entertain the thought of him holding you in a Force choke as he fucks you with the hilt of his lightsaber. You gasp and grind against your fingers, needing more but not being able to get it. You’re aware that your hips are bucking into the air, but you’re past caring— all you want is to come. 

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

You groan loudly in frustration and pull your hand from your pants. Someone’s at the door, likely to do room inspection. _Kriff, of course this would happen to me,_ you think to yourself as you hastily wipe off your hand and go to answer the door. You’d have to finish this later once they were gone— you feel so sexually frustrated that you can’t imagine not finishing the task at hand. You huff and angrily stomp to the door, well, as forcefully as you can in socks. 

“Hello?” you ask as the doors open to reveal two Stormtroopers. One holds a datapad in his hand, clearly referencing it with you. 

“Are you Lieutenant (Y/L/N)?” one asks. 

“Yes, that’s me,” you reply, feeling concerned that something was wrong. You can’t recall anything going haywire or even acting unusual during your shift today; the only thing of note was your chance encounter with Lord Vader when exiting the bridge.

 _Blast, that’s it— he’s going to berate or kill me with no witnesses, no eyes to see what’s happening_ , you think, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. You don’t need to question their purpose here— you know well enough why they’re here to talk to you. 

“Get in uniform and then follow us. We’ll wait right outside,” the other Stormtrooper says. You close the door and quickly change, putting on the uniform you had haphazardly thrown on the floor earlier. _Kriff, these wrinkles are going to cost me if I’m being called in for an impromptu,_ you think to yourself as you dress, making sure that your uniform looked as presentable as possible. You wrestled on your boots, grabbed your cap, and left your room, not wanting to keep the Stormtroopers who summoned you waiting too long. 

Your rank implies that you walk in front of the Stormtroopers, but you have no idea where you are being taken, so you stay behind them. As you walk, you tie your hair up into the nicest bun you can manage without a mirror, and stick it with pins. Hopefully this isn’t a uniform inspection and you won’t have to worry about your hair sticking out too much from your cap. You try to avoid the gazes of the other officers and Stormtroopers in the halls, just wanting to arrive at your meeting (or inspection, or whatever it is) in peace. You can hearfeel your heart pumping blood in your ears, and you feel dizzy with nervousness. You don’t know who or what to expect; your suspicions may be wrong. Your sexual frustration from only minutes before is long gone, anxiety and worry taking its place instead.

When the elevators close behind you and the Stormtroopers, you try to calm your fidgety hands by tucking your hair up into your cap and out of your face, trying to make yourself not appear flustered. You adjust your rank plaque, fingers ghosting across the two red over two blue squares; you had worked hard to earn this plaque. Part of you feared that you’d lose it and be demoted as a result of this meeting, so you let your fingertips linger on it just a bit longer. 

_My parents will be so disappointed in me if I return home without having finished my commission,_ you muse to yourself. You frown and try to push the despairing, self-deprecating thoughts out of your mind and try to be confident, but you find that the bold, convicted voice in the back of your head from earlier is gone. 

The doors of the elevator open and snap you out of your wallowing. You follow the Stormtroopers, allowing your eyes to scan the hallway enclosing you. Upon observation, the level is more open, elegant than any of the others on the ship; the decorations are of sleek charcoal and black, accented by red. The low, barely-there lighting shows how glossy every surface is. This place is like a completely different ship— you get an eerie feeling that this floor is home to Lord Vader’s personal chambers based on the sheer opulence of the interior and the dark, ominous feeling in the air around you. The hallway seems long, endless; maybe it’s the dizziness and overwhelm, but you cannot see the hallway’s end in the slightest. You take the walk one step at a time, trying to focus on the present instead of catastrophizing. You swallow the lump in your throat to reign in your fear, and then the Stormtroopers stop at the end of the hallway in front of a heavy set of doors. Remembering that you must appear presentable, you cross your arms behind your back. 

“We have Lieutenant (Y/L/N) here for you, Lord Vader,” one of the Stormtroopers says into his commlink. 

Your heart stops and then starts again, pumping faster than it had been before. You gasp aloud, and hope that the Stormtroopers didn’t hear you for fear of a jab or sarcastic remark. You grip your wrist tightly in your hand, trying to steady yourself before the doors open and you’re left alone with Lord Vader. Strangely, you feel a hand ghost around your neck and begin to choke you, but gently; not with the intent to kill, it seems, but with the intent to leave you flustered. There is no physical hand, but you suspect that it might be the Force. _This is Lord Vader’s work_ , you think to yourself, rationalizing that he must be doing it to agitate you and throw off your balance before your meeting. You choke and make a strangled noise, attracting the attention of the Stormtroopers. Trying not to show any weakness in front of them— they are your subordinates, after all— you grit your teeth and curl your toes in your boots to brace yourself against the growing pressure around your neck, but you suddenly grow very dizzy. 

In the midst of your brain fog, you don’t realize that Vader has opened the doors and released you from the Force choke. You sway slightly in your position, gasping for air and holding onto your neck; you feel like you may pass out. You let out a few small coughs in quick succession, and look up to find Lord Vader standing in front of you, hands on his belt and looking pitifully down at you. 

“That’s the second time today you haven’t properly acknowledged my presence when I enter, lieutenant,” Vader says, maintaining the same level of cool and collected despite his obvious displeasure at your lack of respect for him. 

“I apologize, Lord Vader,” you say sorrowfully, submissively lowering your head for a moment to make up for the slight infraction. You look up and meet the place where his eyes should be. “It won’t happen again.”

“Is that a promise?” Vader asks, cocking his head like he’s purposefully trying to test you and your patience. You stare through the black lenses of his helmet, finding that you must tilt your head back rather far in order to do so. 

“Yes, Lord Vader,” you say, tightening your posture and trying to sound more confident and sure of yourself. Vader gestures to the Stormtroopers, dismissing them with a brusque _leave us_ before beckoning you to follow him into his chambers. You feel nervous without the protection (however menial it may have been) of the Stormtroopers, and as a result, your heart starts to beat faster and chilling shiver goes down your spine. 

As you cross the threshold, a chill goes over you and settles beneath your uniform. The air here feels darker, more ominous and tense than it did outside; you know you should be terrified right now, but the fact that you are in the private chambers of Lord Vader tickles your curiosity. Maybe you can gain more insight into who he is just from being here; you try to keep the gossip potential buried in your subconscious. Fueled both by curiosity and uneasiness, you look around the room to assess your surroundings. The whole room is a stark, sterile white, magnified by the harsh fluorescent lights above. It looks like the officer’s medical center on the ship or in any Empire hospital. When you look to your left, there’s a small sitting area with a low table and a few chairs; to your right, there’s a large black circular object that looks like an orb, well over ten feet tall. In the center of the room, though, against the back wall, is a huge bed covered in a velvety black coverlet that stands out from the sterility of the room decor. 

You follow Vader to the center of the room and stop where he motions for you to stand. You’re tempted to relax and stand at ease, but the ambiguity of the reasoning for your presence here keeps you in line.

“Stand at attention, lieutenant,” Vader spits out. “Have some decency.”

No sooner had the words left him when you immediately straighten your back and square your shoulders, keeping your eyes ahead and on the headboard above the bed. You become increasingly aware of the reason you might be here. There’s a change in the room around you, barely there, but you feel it. It feels like want, need. Like his want and need. Nonetheless, you remain stock still and will yourself to appear emotionless. 

“You follow orders quite well for someone so…” Vader trails off, crossing his arms behind his back. “Disrespectful. One might think you are overcompensating.”

“I apologize, my lord,” you say, the words _my lord_ falling off your tongue like tender meat from a bone. You didn’t know how satisfying it would be to call a man _lord_ , especially in a time and place like this. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“See to it that you won’t. Many others could easily take your place.”

Vader begins to walk slowly around you, appearing to inspect your uniform (but you suspect that he may be analyzing your physique in the same way he might battle plans or blueprints, deciding if you are worth his time or not— _does he do this with others?_ ). He breathes evenly, slowly, and you hear the _ksssh hooo ksssh_ from behind you; you want to turn your head, but force yourself to remain at attention, no matter how tense and terrifying the situation presently is. Being reminded of your expendability on both this ship and in the Empire makes your skin prickle and your knees feel just a little too weak for your own good.

 _Am I here so that he can remind me just how small I am? How insignificant I am?_ You think to yourself, hoping that Vader isn’t peering into your mind at this moment. Despite your worrying, you try to keep your cool and act as if the most powerful man in the galaxy after the emperor didn’t have his full attention directed towards you. 

Vader steps towards you and takes your rank plaque in between his gloved fingers. You allow yourself to glance down just as he runs his thumb over the raised squares; you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from saying something foolish to him, or appearing insubordinate. Stars know that you’ve already given him enough trouble today as it is. 

“How long have you worked on my ship, Lieutenant…” Vader trails off, beckoning you to give your last name.

“(Y/L/N),” you respond, sure that Vader can feel your heart hammering against his hand. “Lieutenant (Y/L/N). And I’ve been here two years now, Lord Vader.”

Vader pulls his hand back and looks away from you. “Two years on my ship, and you have a wrinkled uniform?”

You grimace and mentally curse yourself. Of course this would happen to you. You’ve embarrassed yourself three times too many in front of Vader today; it’s a shock that you weren’t dead yet and floating in a trash compactor.

“I apologize, Lord Vader,” you say, trying to reign in your emotions and the millions of thoughts racing through your head. You’re certain that he can see every single one, from your fear, to how you may be punished, to how you may die. You feel him penetrate your mind with an aggressive probe of the Force. His signature presses against your consciousness, making you wince at the pressure. “I won’t-”

You are immediately cut off with Vader’s hand wrapped around your neck and his body, that solid and unmoving wall of armor and machine, pressed up against your back. You gasp in surprise and freeze in your boots. Vader’s other hand effectively traps your hands, holding both of them by the wrist in his one hand. You try to ignore the jolt of pleasure to your core when Vader locks his hold on you, possessing you and showing you just how powerless you were in this situation. You were entirely at his mercy right now and could not defy him. But part of you, the secret, dark part in the back of your mind, relished in this moment; you were entirely at the mercy of an elusive, mysterious, strangely attractive man, a man who happened to wield the most dangerous and unworldly power in the galaxy.

Slowly, he tightens his grip on your wrists and neck, making your breaths grow heavier and slowly increasing the burn between your legs. You’d rarely entertained the idea of being so submissive, so at mercy to the whims and wills of another being, but now that you were with Lord Vader, it was the only thing on your mind. Against your ear, you hear his _ksssh hooo ksssh_ , the air expelling from the helmet and sending gooseflesh down your neck and below your collar. You tried your best to remain at attention for him.

“You keep apologizing, Lieutenant (Y/L/N), you keep saying it,” Vader growls into your ear, his deep voice sending pleasure and want in waves throughout your body. “Words mean nothing to me, and they clearly mean nothing to you. So why don’t you show me?”


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader demands that you (yes you!!) make your apologies to him in the only way he deems acceptable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello trash monsters! Enjoy this final chapter. 
> 
> ~Hunter 
> 
> P.S.: There is listening material to accompany the reading material! I heavily suggest it for this chapter, since it is a bit of a doozy to read. My Vader / Reader playlist can be found [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0YTlnw6DQIfBn8SAryAzCS?si=7eSFKrjUSB28Qe5FJ-bjTg)

You stand frozen in place, heart threatening to tear through the layers of bone and muscle and skin trapping it in your chest. You’re left utterly slack-jawed by Lord Vader’s question, and you want to scream _yes, yes, I’ll do anything for you_ but the hand around your neck leaves you speechless. 

“Answer me when I speak to you,” Vader demands, the aggression in his tone heightened by the vocoder in his helmet. You whimper when you feel the smooth glide of his leather gloves on your burning skin. At the front of your mind, though, you sense the Force massaging out your anxious thoughts. The wetness between your legs grows and you can’t help but shamelessly arch into Vader’s touch. 

“Y-yes,” you gasp out through your air-starved lungs. “I’ll show you, Lord Vader. I’ll show you.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he replies, releasing your hands from his grip and moving his now-free hand to your bicep to more effectively restrain you. For a moment, he loosens his hold on your neck and you take a deep breath to provide relief to your strained lungs. When you feel your head spin, your mind brings forth the memory of earlier, when you were on your bed thinking of Vader fucking you. You hear him darkly chuckle, so low the vocoder barely picks it up, when you breathe in. 

“I take it you liked what I made you see,” Vader says, pressing his fingertips into your jugular. “I saw you through the Force, in your room, touching yourself like the animal you are. Do you really allow your base instincts to control you like that?”

”I just couldn’t help myself from doing it, Lord Vader,” you say, your groin growing hot again with arousal. “I was only following your orders not to stop.”

”And what do you say for me giving you those thoughts?”

”Thank you, Lord Vader.” 

Everything about this situation reminds you that you are weak and fragile compared to him. Without your hands between you, you can feel every ridge of machine and armor digging into your back. Every strip of thick leather padding on Vader’s suit protrudes through the fabric of your uniform. His words, him calling you an animal, only make you feel more subordinate to him. You don’t know if it’s the Force or the sheer anticipation of what will happen next that keeps your arms pinned to your sides, but you find you don’t particularly care. The fingers Vader has around your throat ripple and flex, testing out how much he can give you. Your breath catches in your lungs, refusing to be released. Even though the choke isn’t extreme, you can’t help but feel like dying because of how intimate it feels to have him breathing down your back and his hand secure around your neck. It’s almost kind of him. 

Vader gives your neck a little squeeze before sorrowfully releasing it and trailing his hand down your front. He drags it down slowly between your breasts and across your tightening abdomen. You let out a few muffled whimpers as you feel the Force seeping through your uniform and ghosting over your skin as his hand travels lower. You have to remind yourself to stay upright and keep your feet planted so that your weak knees don’t send you tumbling out of his arms and to the floor. Vader is moving slower, more gentle; it allows you to gain back your bearings and senses. You get lost in his touch, in the feeling of his gloved hand massaging your breasts over your uniform, his breathing heavy in your ear. You allow your head to loll, your hands to relax; you focus on matching your breathing pattern to his. It’s why you jump when Vader drops your belt to the floor unceremoniously, the belt buckle dinging your boot and clattering across the pristine white tiles. A quick glance at the toe of your boot tells you that when he dropped the belt, it hit your newly-polished boot, slightly scuffing it. You’d have to fix that to pass inspection later on this week. 

With a rough jerk of his hand, Vader yanks open the snaps on your uniform top, making you gasp in shock. He does not, though, remove your top completely; instead, he (finally) releases your bicep and lets both of his hands cross over your chest, feeling around for your breasts through your plain, standard-issue breast band. 

“How old are you, Lieutenant (Y/L/N)?” Vader asks you casually, as if he weren’t presently manhandling you. The way he gropes you, the sheer roughness of it, sends fizzles of pleasure to your core. You squirm a little, not because you are trying to move away, but because your want is making your skin feel too tight. 

“I—I’m 20,” you reply, seizing up when Vader’s gloved fingertips pass over a particularly touch-receptive section of your ribs. His touch is unpredictable and all over the place. One moment his hand is roughly palming your whole breast and then the next it’s skimming gently over the sensitive side of your abdomen, making your skin crawl and shiver. 

“You will address me with respect when I speak to you,” Vader commands, tightly squeezing your breast, almost to the point that it hurt. The roughness makes you cry out in painpleasure. 

“I apologize, Lord Vader, I did not mean to offend you,” you say, feeling evermore submissive to him. He hums in approval, abandoning your breast and removing your cap, dropping it to the floor next to your belt. He finds the pins embedded in your (Y/H/C) hair and drops them as well. It’s so quiet in the room save for the sound of your heart and his breathing that when the pins hit the white tiles, their tinkling rings loudly in your ears. Your hair droops out of its bun and Vader combs his thick fingers through it, admiring its texture and color against the black matteness of his leather gloves. You are a whole other being to him, soft and pliable and young where he is hard and unmoving and aged. You hear him bury his helmet in your hair and breathe in your scent. It sends a delightful shiver down your back.

”What I meant to say is that I’m 20, Lord Vader,” you correct yourself as Vader pulls sharply on your hair, making you whine.

“You’re practically a youngling compared to me,” Vader says coolly, unbuttoning your trousers with ease. When had he moved his hands down? Your heart hammers in anticipation for what he will do next, leaving you desperate and aroused. All you want is more, more, more—even if he is going to be rough with you. 

“Your heart skipped when I called you that,” he says. “I could feel it.”

He pauses, leaving his hand flat over your trousers’ waistband. 

“Does it bring you pleasure when I call you that?”

You consider your next words wisely. Hearing him say _pleasure_ through his vocoder is more arousing than anything you’ve ever heard. You can’t help but feel yourself get wetter, feel the coil in your groin tighten in expectation. 

“Yes, Lord Vader.”

Vader hums to himself in understanding. A nagging voice in your subconscious reminds you, though, that he will never give you what you want. You could beg, and plead, and swear everything, but he would deny you and take his own satisfaction first. You are nothing to him. 

_I can’t imagine not coming right now, stars, stars, kriff— he won’t give it to me. He won’t let me come and I’m going to go back to my room on the edge,_ you think to yourself, letting your mind wander. Your distracted mind allows Vader to seehear your thoughts with no effort. You feel like your body is too small to contain the pleasure you feel right now; your insides feel like a blaster priming to fire, like a grenade with the pin pulled half out, like a star on the brink of exploding. You haven’t ever been touched like this, been touched at all, in fact, by someone else. It’s your sheer lack of experience and quickly-budding desire that makes you lean into his touch, squirm needily against his hard machine of a body. Vader sees all these things projected from your mind and into his.

“Oh... you’re untouched, aren’t you, youngling?” Vader asks, his voice deeper and darker in your ear. He pauses to breathe, the _ksssh hooo ksssh_ sending its familiar jolt of arousal between your legs. You nod, but he says, “Answer me.”

“Yes, Lord Vader,” you whine, keening into the hand he has skimming under the waistband of your trousers. “I’ve never been with someone.” 

Vader chuckles, deep in his throat. You can tell that this information is pleasing to him and you nearly breathe a sigh of relief, but you know better now than to let your guard down around him. 

“That makes this all the better. And you’re right, youngling,” Vader says deeply, forcing his hand into your trousers and cupping your groin roughly. “I won’t give you what you want. This act is not for you. It never was.”

Vader leans in closer to your ear, so close that his chest panel digs harshly into your vertebrae. He’s using the hand he has on your groin to pull himself flush with your body, a sensation that makes your toes curl in your boots and your wetness seep out of your underwear. 

“It’s for me.”

You shudder to hear it. Your movement compels Vader to force his chest panel, with its hard buttons and edges, between your shoulder blades. You grind shamelessly against him, letting the panel dig into your skin and his hand give you much-needed friction over your clit.

“Your want is overwhelming you,” Vader says calmly, as if this whole scene was normal and he wasn’t rubbing forceful, choppy circles against your clit. 

You don’t respond, head swimming in overwhelm from the feeling of what you assume to be Vader’s fingers on your mound, but let your mouth hang open as a betraying moan leaves your throat. You know this feeling all too well— you’re about to come, hard. You clench your thighs and your abdomen, waiting for the cord in your belly to snap, but then you feel yourself choking. Vader is Force choking you, again, keeping your orgasm at bay and not allowing you to release the pent-up arousal in your veins. 

“What did I say about answering to me when I speak to you? Do I have to remind you again?” Vader interrogates you, his voice edgy and demanding. His words have more bite to them and you fear what he will do to you if you don’t respond. He releases you from the Force choke and you pant heavily, gasping for air. Your knees buckle and you collapse to the ground; you didn’t realize that he was keeping you up this whole time. Were you really so out of it, so far gone, that you could barely stand on your own two feet?

“That I will always respond to you and with respect, Lord Vader,” you say, prostrating yourself even though Vader is behind you. Your body buzzes with your aborted orgasm, the soreness in your cunt settling in from being denied the chance to come and from the roughness of his ministrations. You swallow the lump in your throat and take a deep breath.

”I can’t help that you make me want you, Lord Vader,” you say, hoping that he’ll accept your revision.

“Say my name again,” Vader commands you. You can feel him standing directly over you. His power with the Force is hard to miss. You turn slowly onto your back to look up at him and into the hollowness of his helmet’s lenses. 

“Lord Vader,” you say helplessly, biting your lip and cocking your head to one side. You see Vader get taken aback at your forwardness— he had been leading all night long thus far, but your obedience when addressing him with his title impresses him and changes his demeanor. He stands a little straighter and puts on a more confident, proud air. His stance sends goosebumps down your arms; he really is more attractive when he’s like this, all powerful and in control. 

“Remove your clothes,” Vader orders you, unflinching and composed. If there’s the suggestion of the Force in his voice, you don’t realize it, nor do you care. You would not need to be forced or convinced to do this, anyways. He walks over to one of the chairs and sits down in it. At first, you are confused when he sits down, removing himself from you when before he had not wanted to divorce your body from his. But then he sits back, rests his arms on the arms of the chair, and you know why he’s sat down. He wants to watch and thoroughly enjoy what he’s about to do to you, or make you do. “And get on the bed.”

“Yes, Lord Vader,” you reply, slowly standing on your shaking legs and slowing your rapid breaths. You feel like a newborn bantha or a malfunctioning AT-ST as you try to make your legs work properly. When you’re finally standing, you walk backwards a few steps until the backs of your knees collide with the plush bed. Slowly, you peel the uniform top away from your body, letting him watch as you expose each inch of skin for him. You try and make eye contact with him, but stars know that his helmet prevents you from actually seeing him. You try to make taking your boots off graceful, but they require more effort than slipping off a uniform; you hope that your inefficiency and slowness has not annoyed him. You stand up straight, keeping your eyes fixed on where his are (should be) and creep your trousers down your legs, shimmying out of them. Vader settles back into his chair even further and crosses one of his legs over the other, taking a deep breath to still himself and putting his hand under the chin of his helmet. He appears deep in thought, but about what you don’t know. 

You’re left in just your regulation underwear, which is not flattering in the least, standing before Vader under the harsh fluorescent lights. You reach behind you and unclasp your breast band, watching for any change in Vader’s breathing or composure, but there is none. He continues to watch and wait, remaining in his chair with eyes trained on you like a sniper on their target. Each time he breathes and the air slowly hisses from his helmet, tremors travel down your spine and send pleasure straight to your groin. 

Then it hits you: you have the full, undivided attention of the most feared man in the galaxy. Realizing that sparks another thought, one that gives you more confidence. He may have physical power over you, but you are the one who is controlling his present emotions and desires. The fact that he wants you out of any man or woman on this ship makes you feel special. Desired. 

And with that, you confidently remove your underwear, stripping them off in as fluid of a motion as you can manage, removing the last barrier to your body for Vader. You swear you hear his breathing falter, even if just for a moment. You sit on the bed, careful to keep your knees together. This is your only opportunity to tease Vader and manipulate the situation to your advantage, even if only for a moment. Your mind fills with images of Vader pressing you into the mattress and fucking you, of your hair being pulled roughly, of being pushed to your knees. You bite your lip in expectation and let your eyes close. Your legs get jerked open, but you don’t feel hands on you; upon feeling your legs spread, your eyes fly open to catch Vader waving his hand. Your stomach twists in desperation and it takes all of your willpower not to seek friction against the velvety sheets. 

Vader returns to his position, hand under his chin, leaving your cunt completely exposed and vulnerable to him. You open your mouth to ask him what he wants you to do next, but your words turn into a moan when you feel a slight sensation against your clit, barely-there and teasing. You feel the Force locking your legs and hands in place, forcing you to remain still and open for him. All you can do as Vader pleasures you with the Force is grip the sheets in your fists, curl your toes against the cold tiles, and make wanton noises as you sit upright and facing him. The small, frequently-changing circles Vader uses on your clit overwhelm your mind and body to the point that you can barely focus on anything other than the base sensation of his touch. Sometimes, he’s quick and rough with his ministrations, making you scream and resist against his force restraints; more often, though, he’s slow and teasing, tantalizing you with barely-there touches that leave you whining and whimpering. It’s like he knows when you’re about to come, and that’s when he decides to change his movements, leaving you breathless and hopelessly on the edge. You must look pitiful and desperate. You ache to touch yourself where you want (need) it as your arousal builds in your groin and threatens to split you in half. You find yourself shamelessly bucking your hips forward, searching for a phantom touch that never gives you what you want.

(You don’t know how long he goes on with this, simply watching you react while he sits, solemn and unmoving. Time has ceased to exist in your pleasure-addled brain, forcing you to remain firmly in the present. No matter how you react to his ministrations, Vader watches your face intently, observes the way your body reacts to the sensations, and takes your whole body in. It’s chilling to see him appear so unaffected.)

But then you feel something press against your slit, and it’s wide and you _know_ it will hurt, and you see images of Vader entering you and filling you and you can’t help but cry out. It’s the most surface area of touch you’ve received from him in stars knows how long in the spot your body has been telling you that it needs it. You think you might burst, and that feeling of too-tight skin returns and you actually cry. The tears start falling and they don’t stop, because you’re right on the edge and have been denied so many times. You try and hold still because you know that one stray movement against the sheets (now soaking with your wetness) will have you coming; knowing Lord Vader, he would definitely be angry if you came without permission. 

_At least you’re smart enough to know not to come unless I say, lieutenant,_ you hear Vader say in your mind, his voice booming against your skull. _You might be_ _pathetic and disobedient,_ _youngling, but you’re learning._

And just like that, Vader mercilessly takes away all Force touch away from your clit. You sob and cry out in, for lack of a better word, anguish as you’re left on the precipice of coming once again. You breathe heavily, practically heaving as you try to collect yourself, but it’s no use. Your cunt is sore, sensitive, and throbbing. You know that when you finally climax, it will hurt. Hot, salty tears sting your eyes and the inside of your nose burns. You hang your head down, trying to hide your shame, not noticing that Vader has stood from his chair and approached you. 

“Look me in the eyes,” Vader says, jerking your head up with the Force, craning it back as far as it can go. “That’s better.”

“Yes, Lord Vader,” you sputter out, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“I like to see you crying,” Vader continues, slowly wrapping his hand around your throat. “Screaming in pain. Chasing my touch.”

Vader tightens his grip on your neck, and with what feels like no effort or resistance, he pushes you all the way down to the mattress. Your body lies flush against the velvet sheets, rubbing softly against them and sending tremors down your spine. You belatedly try to breathe against the pressure of his hand on your throat, but are left gasping for air and choking. Vader looms large over you, much like he did on the bridge earlier today; it seems like that happened a thousand years ago, not a mere five hours prior. He’s finally on the bed with you, and his thighs bracket yours; the leather of his groin armor brushes your mound and you resist the urge to rock up against him and finally get that release you’ve been denied all night. He dwarfs you and his cape creates a huge, black curtain surrounding your bodies; if someone entered, they may not be able to tell you were there with him. 

“I just want to come, my lord,” you manage, sniffing and holding back tears. You look up at him helplessly, searching for his eyes behind the lifeless lenses of his helmet, but find nothing there but your own reflection. 

“Ah, but seeing you like this gives me great pleasure,” Vader explains as he skims his gloved fingertips, using the glove’s slightly-protruding seam, up your side. You keen into his touch (however slight and barely-there it is) and push against the Force restraints to no avail. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Vader removes his hand from your neck and you cough as air fills your lungs again. 

_“And it’s Lord Vader to you.”_

Your mind is reeling as he stands on his knees above you and maintaining your eye contact, Vader’s hands transition to his belt and unclick it. All you can do is wait and anticipate his next move. You itch to peer inside his mind and see what he’ll do next but then feel Vader’s force signature threateningly press against your consciousness. 

“Don’t be so free with your thoughts, youngling,” Vader says, carefully placing his belt on the bed above your head. He unfastens the groin plate from his armor with practiced ease and lays it beside the belt. 

“I apologize, Lord Vader,” you say anxiously, cursing yourself and stiffening your spine.

“Show me your apology, then,” Vader commands you, and then you hear the _hisss_ of his cuirass opening. “Don’t disappoint me or there will be consequences.”

You lift your head slightly and then you see, in Vader’s hand, his long, thick cock; it looks like flesh and metal melded together from the base to the tip. All ten inches of it jut sharply from his body from an exposed place in his suit. You swallow the lump in your throat as you take in its length, the metal of it shining under the fluorescent lights. Your cunt throbs in arousal and you feel more wetness seep from your slit. He strokes himself a few times, and you watch as he tilts his head back and groans in pleasure. His cock grows impossibly large as he strokes it, the flesh thickening as the metal plates shift into position. If your hands weren’t restrained, you would reach out and grasp his cock in your hand so that you could feel all the places where metal joined with flesh, feel its warmth and thickness in your palm. You can barely wait until you have him inside of you. 

“Suck,” Vader orders you. The Force is in his voice, but you’re so desperate to touch him that you don’t care. Your restraints are released and you move up on the bed so that your face is closer to his cock, and then you’re finally able to see it clearly. It seems so much larger now that you’re up close to it, and without hesitation, you close your mouth over the head of his cock. You suck on him and feel the hot, burning flesh and metal against your tongue. You sink your head down further, hollowing your cheeks and letting him fill your mouth with his girth. Vader fists a hand in your hair, gripping tightly and not letting go. He forces your mouth down onto his cock even more, and you choke around him, which makes him groan. Despite the resistance of the back of your mouth, Vader fucks it. He does not care whether or not you sputter or gasp for air that is simply not there or drool messily all over his cock. He just continues to fuck your mouth without abandon; the least you can do is keep your teeth back as much as possible so that he can take what he wants from you without inconvenience. He works into a groove, and you moan around him; you can’t wait until you feel his cock inside of your cunt, hitting against your g-spot and stretching you wide. You hear him moan in pleasure, too, before pulling his cock from your mouth. 

“On your hands and knees.”

“Yes, Lord Vader.”

You do as he says promptly, positioning yourself so that you’re on display for him once again. You hear the noise of leather and armorweave swishing against each other as he moves back towards the bed, towards you. His hands roughly grab your hips and grip the flesh there. He pulls your body to the edge of the bed and you cry out in surprise, but your cry turns into a moan as he roughly rubs three gloved fingers over your dripping cunt, teasing you and warming you up again. And then you feel the hot tip of his cock press against your slit, threatening to push inside of you. 

Vader pushes your face into the mattress, holding it down against the velvety sheets, effectively smothering you. You feel the return of the Force restraints on your arms and legs. You feel the armorweave of his cape against your limbs, the leather of his gloves and suit against your back. You breathe heavily. Your heart pounds. You close your eyes and see light flashing behind your eyelids. The world stops and goes silent inside your mind. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears. 

And then, finally, you feel Vader’s cock press into you, stretching you wider than you thought possible. He does not enter you slowly, but rather all at once. The pain of his cock entering you is enough to make your nose and eyes sting with the threat of tears again. The vice-like hand that grips your waist positions itself and then he moves. He starts at a vigorous pace, bottoming out on each thrust and hitting the backs of your thighs. Each thrust pushes you forward and rocks your body. The arousal slowly begins to build in your abdomen again as the metal plates of his cock slide back and forth against your g-spot. You whimper, whine, and sniffle like a sick animal as he fucks you hard, not slowing down his pace in the slightest. The tears fall from your eyes and seep into the sheets; you cannot stop yourself from sobbing even though it’s becoming impossible to breathe. He is not gentle with you, and holds nothing back as he fucks you. It’s borderline ruthless the way he moves your whole trunk back onto his cock, staying relatively stationary as he forces your movements. 

(Even though you struggle, your pleasure doesn’t flag and Vader’s thrusts certainly don’t.)

“Don’t get the idea in your head that I’m attracted to you,” Vader says. “I only want your body and what you can give me. You are entirely under my control. Your worthlessness, your expendability, only emphasizes my power over you. You are nothing to me”

Each word is punctuated by a rough, powerful thrust that sends jolts of pleasure to your clit. You whimper in affirmation to what Vader says. It’s meant to make you feel like nothing, but it thrills you to know that you are entirely at Vader’s mercy. Deep inside, you know that Vader _had_ to have chosen you for a reason among all the other men and women on the ship and throughout the Empire. You feel the need and arousal pool in your groin again, and you feel your climax quickly approaching; you squeeze around Vader’s cock, feeling each ridge of metal and each inch of flesh more acutely. 

All of the sensation feels overwhelming and too much. Your core feels like it will split in two from the tightening coil of arousal in your abdomen. Vader grunts at the tightening around his cock, and his thrusts become more erratic. 

_“Oh, Padmé.”_

You bristle at hearing Lord Vader say another woman’s name, but you cannot protest. He whispers it to himself, completely forgetting both your name and your existence. He says it to himself a few times as he increases his pace, each time making your blood boil and your feelings of worthlessness grow. With one last hard thrust, Vader groans in release, pushes your face down harder, and comes inside of you. His come fills you and spills out of your slit, down your thighs. The burning metal plates of his cock sear your walls as he holds you in place, flush against his armored body. 

“Come, youngling,” Vader grunts into your ear. “Come on my cock.”

You grip the sheets tightly in your hands as you brace yourself for your own orgasm to finally come. You allow yourself to release and let the coil in your abdomen unwind, leaving you shaking and shuddering and breathless. It does not feel fulfilling or pleasurable when you come; it just hurts, aches. You slump on the bed, no longer able to hold your position. Your limbs, once straining to hold you up, were just too tired to expend any more effort. Your over-stimulated clit was sore and your whole mound throbbed with varying ebbs of pain and pleasure. 

Vader pulls out of you slowly, letting the slightly raised metal ridges of his cock drag over your sensitive walls. You groan in pain as his heavy cock slips out of you, leaving you painfully empty and hollow. You breathe heavily as he pulls his hand away from your face and allows you to breathe in fresh air. You make eye contact through your read and bleary, tear-stained eyes and you weakly smile at him; he rewards you with a singular, hard slap just below your ass, making you yelp in surprise. Your muscles twitch with strain and overuse as you lie limp across the bed and your stationary position ensures that you feel the slow, steady stream of Vader’s come and your own wetness leave your body and smear on your thighs. You tremble as your body returns to its calmer state. You feel drained from being edged so hard and so many times, and you know it’s a long shot that Vader might allow you to stay in his room tonight, but mayhaps if you fall asleep here he will. Your eyes slip shut as you hear his cuirass _hisss_ closed. 

“Get up.”

You try to sit up, struggling to do so with your weak limbs. Your head spins as you force yourself to remain upright and when your clit brushes against the fabric of the sheets, you visibly jolt in painpleasure. 

“What, Lord Vader?”

“Get up. Get dressed and get out,” Vader orders you as he puts on his belt and adjusts his groin plate. “If you’re quick, you won’t face a severe punishment.”

“Y-yes, Lord Vader.”

You’re stunned. You barely know what to do or how to respond, but you don’t protest. Although you had enjoyed Vader being rough and forceful with you, using the force and dominating you, you had to admit that he was acting rather cold and distant. He had called _you_ here for a _reason,_ you think to yourself, trying to keep the thoughts buried deep in your consciousness and away from him. 

You wipe the tears and snot from your face, trying to look and feel brave, and stand up on shaking legs. Vader does not make any attempt to help you stand or get dressed— he just watches you in amusement as you collect your clothes and wince as the rough fabric of your underwear and uniform rub uncomfortably against your still-sensitive skin. He stands there, a few feet away from you, hands on his belt. He’s motionless. 

You sniffle and try not to let the tears falling from your eyes deter you as you hastily get dressed. You feel undeniably hurt and discomforted by Vader’s brusque treatment of you. First he called you by a different name, clearly wishing you weren’t there, and now he’s forcing you out of his chamber without helping you or cleaning you up. Huffing, you bend down and grab your pins off the ground and stuff them in your pocket, and then pick up your crushed cap. You’re so upset that you don’t care about maintaining a proper appearance right now. 

“Goodnight, Lieutenant (Y/L/N),” Vader says as he sits in his chair, gesturing for you to leave. 

“Goodnight, Lord Vader,” you respond solemnly. You exit his chambers, your wet thighs chafing in your trousers and your underwear rendered useless with how soaked through they are. Your whole lower body aches and your knees are still a little weak. Your hasty exit does not help with the soreness between your legs. You try not to cry again and bite back your tears. 

But something stops you. Your moment of confidence from earlier returns, and you recall how just minutes ago, you had Vader’s full attention. How _you_ controlled him and his desire. In that moment, you decide to be bold. You ignore the nagging voice in your subconscious that says to keep walking straight out of Vader’s chambers and back to your room. 

_Maybe he just needs to be shown some genuine care,_ you think to yourself as you turn on your heels and re-enter Vader’s chambers. You burst in and see Vader cock his head in surprise at you, the datapad in his hand forgotten. You take a deep breath and approach him with conviction, feeling sure in yourself. 

Daringly, you lean down to Vader’s helmet and press a lingering kiss on the grille mouthpiece. You pull away after a few seconds and turn away, ready to finally make your exit. You were determined to leave on your own terms and to take some of your own agency back in this act. You wanted him, and tonight had made it clear that you wanted to be with him again in the future. But something stops you in your place; you try to move forward but an invisible barrier holds you back and keeps your feet planted to the ground. 

“Maybe you’re not as smart as you think, youngling,” Vader says. You feel him hold tightly onto your bicep, mirroring his hold on you from earlier that night, and press his lightsaber into your lower back. “How foolish of you to think that this contract was going to factor in your pleasure and your choices. Perhaps it was my fault that I thought I could tame someone so disobedient instead of choosing someone who would follow orders.”

“I apolo—”

Your words are cut off as the pure energy blade of Vader’s lightsaber cuts through your spine, your organs and muscles and skin. You fall to the ground, your head colliding with the tiles. 

You feel the life slip out of you and into the Force. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, in ya brain: kudos/comment on this fic  
> you: but why  
> me, in ya brain: you gotta
> 
> ~Hunter


End file.
